Beyond the Sea
by Lacadiva
Summary: The new head of security at the Louvre gets a visit from a dear old friend. Takes place six months after "Au Revoir"


Beyond the Sea

By

Lacadiva

_Disclaimer: Jeff Eastin, you've broken my heart. I miss White Collar so much, and cannot be appeased by Graceland…but I hope you will not mind me continuing to play with your characters. I get nothing but a pocketful of joy._

Summary: One shot: The Louver's special head of security gets an unexpected visitor.

"_La Mer,_

_Qu'on voit danser_

_Le long des golfes clairs_

_A des reflets d'argent La mer _

_Des reflets changeants_

_Sous la pluie…"_

_**~WC~**_

"Merci, thank you, Mesdames et Messieurs, pour votre consideration…"

He enjoyed this part of the job the most. He'd come to live for it. After testing the efficacy and efficiency of timeworn, old school security systems and newer, super tech systems alike, there was nothing better than presenting his dramatic findings and observing the collective reactions of the museum officials.

Sometimes there were subtle shrugs, eyes filled with quiet shame in knowing that somehow they'd settled for less. He knew because their shifting eyes refused to meet his.

Sometimes there would be looks of utter shock and dismay – a hand covering a mouth, a hand to the chest with a gasp, or a shaking head. In no time at all he would win them over with his proposal to thoroughly update and upgrade their tech. He would have them anxiously agreeing to his recommendations and services and chomping at the bit to sign on the dotted line. And why not? The faults and inconsistencies, the holes in their systems he pointed out were causing them to lose great fortunes in the form of artistic treasures. Rather than stealing, he was now helping them keep their treasures. And being extremely well compensated for his expertise.

The money was not what made his chest swell with pride, or his eyes dance with joy. It was the realization that he was actually doing something good.

"Mon assistant livrera mes recommdations pour vous demain."

For his multi-lingual patrons, he restated in English, "My assistant will deliver my recommendations to you tomorrow."

Almost immediately, as if on cue, Sophie, a lovely woman of 28, with dyed blond hair with deep dark roots dramatically and deliberately showing, opened the door, signaling that their meeting – more like an audience with her charismatic boss – was over.

"Je attends avec impatience vos commentaires…I can't wait to hear all of your comments…and with that, have a great afternoon…bon après-midi."

His small audience of dazzled museum officials broke out in impromptu applause.

"Bravo, Monsieur LeBlanc," one of the employees said.

Most of them remained, lingering to talk and about the presentation, but mostly to talk about their charming presenter.

"Ses yeux son incroyables, si bleu…" he overheard one woman say to another as he left the conference room and started toward his office. He could not help but smile.

"Monsieur LeBlanc!"

He turned to find Sophie running to catch up with him.

"Eavesdropping while they talk about your big blue eyes again?" she asked, her command of English apparent, but her accent quite thick.

"Not at all," he said. "Just basking in the glow of another successful presentation, thanks in no small part to you."

"Fft! I copied some papers and sent a few emails. You are the big genius the Louvre has fallen so in love with."

They walked together, heading back to his office.

"Sophie, you know I'm nothing without you."

"Oui, you are just another pretty face. One look at those eyes of yours, and you have them mesmerized. And that is just the men!"

"You flatter me."

"They are all in agreement? They will sign?"

"I believe they are happy with the proposal. You'll have copies on their desks by ten tomorrow?"

"Oui, Monsieur LeBlanc."

"I told you, call me Cole."

"Cole. Sounds too American."

"I am an American."

"I know, " Sophie said with a wry smile. "I'm sure it is not your fault."

He reached for the door to his office.

"Wait!" Sophie said suddenly. "Pardon, Monsieur LeBla…Cole. I nearly forgot…."

"Quoi?"

"There is a man in your office. He insisted upon seeing you."

He was suspicious, thought he felt his heart flutter. Surprises like these always gave him a sense of unease. It had only been a year and a half since…

"Who is he?"

"He said he owns a small gallery in Quebec, and requires your expertise."

"Did you get his name?"

"A…Monsieur Ami."

Sophie disappeared behind her cubicle, leaving him to decide whether to confront the man in his office or flee.

He reached for the door and opened it.

The gentleman was wearing a dark suit and a hat – a Fedora – and had his back turned, looking out of the picture window that looked onto the dark triangular sculpture just outside.

"Bonjour…" he said cautiously. "Can I help you, Monsieur?"

"I believe you can, Monsieur LeBlanc. I have a Raphael that needs protecting. I hear you're the man for the job."

"Where did you hear that?"

"La bouche du cheval," said the mysterious man, who slowly turned and removed his hat.

Knees weakened, his breath shortened, and his heart beat hard against his chest when the man turned about.

"Peter…?"

"It think it means, 'the horse's mouth.' My French is a little rusty."

"Peter?"

His voice softened as he smiled and asked, "How are you, Neal?"

Neal could have sworn he saw tears forming in the man's eyes.

Just like in his own.

"Peter…"

"Cole LeBlanc? Really, drop the "e" and it's French for white collar. Clever."

"You shouldn't be here."

"But I am."

Neal approached his old friend but stopped short.

"Are you here to arrest me?"

"Should I? What have you done? I sort of lost track since you died."

Neal didn't know how to answer.

"I'm here on a second honeymoon. Thought I'd look upon an old friend."

Neal reached out…the first to make the move, initiating a hearty bear hug that told Peter his friendship had not been forgotten.

"I missed you," Neal confessed.

"Yeah, me too."

Neal pulled away to look Peter in the face.

"You look pretty good for a dead man," said Peter.

"You figured it out. I hoped you would."

"You doubted me? I told you, no matter where you go I'll always find you. Now I'm three for three."

"Rub my nose in it," Neal said with a big smile. Then, "You know why I did this…"

"The Pink Panthers…short on mercy, long on memory. Cross them and they kill everyone close to you."

"I couldn't risk that happening, Peter. Not to you, or El, or the Baby…Moz and June…even Sara…I couldn't…"

"I know, I know," said Peter reassuringly.

"If I'm dead…"

"But you aren't."

"Neal Caffrey is dead. Enter Cole LeBlanc."

"So do I call you Cole or Neal?"

Neal moved toward the window and hit a button on a panel on the wall. Instantly the window became opaque.

"You shouldn't be calling me anything at all. If the Panthers get wind of this…"

"They're behind bars for a very long time."

"Forgive me if I'm still a little paranoid. Speaking of…how's Mozzie taking it?"

"He's…coping. He comes by the house. We reminisce. He disappears. He's crazy about Neal."

"He'll get over it."

"No," Peter chuckled. "That's right, you don't' know. Neal…our son…El and I…we named him Neal."

Neal froze. The rush of unfettered emotion was overwhelming, turning his face and eyes red and rendering him speechless.

~WC~

They sat in Neal's office until sunset, watching through the partially darkened window until night had begun to descend upon his adopted city.

Peter showed Neal pictures of the baby, of El, the gang back at the White Collar unit. Of Mozzie and June in mid-toast, enjoying some vintage wine Neal left behind. And they shared stories of what had transpired for both of them over the past 18 months.

"Ever think about coming back to New York?"

"All the time," Neal confessed. "I miss her…The City. But it's out of the question. No. I have to do this right, to protect the people I care about."

Peter sat quietly looking out of the opaque window, seeing more the reflection of himself that what was outside, lost in thought.

"I should get back to the hotel," he said. "El will be worried."

"Does she know?"

"She suspects. I think she always suspected…or hoped. When I told her I wanted to spend our second honeymoon in Paris, she mentioned, more than once, how 'miraculous' it would be to run into Neal Caffrey walking the Champs Elysees, or sipping an espresso at some sidewalk café. I wanted to tell her so many times…what I found in that storage unit…what I suspected…"

"You think it's wise?"

"She deserves to know. Why didn't you let me in on it, Neal? I could've helped. Maybe, together, we could've figured something out…"

Neal stood and moved to the window.

"Plausible deniability, Peter. You can't get burned if you don't know. And you needed to really believe I was dead to sell it to the FBI. If my plan failed, went down the tubes, I didn't want you to go down with it. You have a life, a good one. Knowing me…complicated things."

"Knowing you put one of the most dangerous theft rings out of business for good. Not to mention taking down Matthew Keller, Ryan Wilkes…I could go on…"

"Don't. I get it. Sometimes I wonder…at what cost?"

"Nothing's free."

"I think I finally learned that lesson."

Peter stood and met his friend by the window, and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

"So…where do we go from here?"

"You go have a wonderful second honeymoon with your beautiful wife…and Cole LeBlanc keeps creating a life for himself."

"You know you can call me anytime…if there's anything you need…if things fall apart…"

"I appreciate it Peter. But I have to do this alone. Promise me you won't contact me again."

"Neal…"

"Promise me."

Peter pursed his lips. Some part of him knew Neal was right, but he didn't want him to be.

"Peter…"

"Okay."

He patted Neal on his shoulder again and moved toward the door to leave.

"It's good to see you, Peter. Stay well."

"Yeah. If you ever change your mind…"

"I meant it…you know?"

Peter inclined his head t the side, curious.

"In the ambulance. I meant it. You're my best friend."

Peter wiped his face with a warm hand that instantly became damp, and took a ragged breath before opening the door and leaving.

~WC~

"Monsieur LeBlanc?"

Sophie opened the door, peeking her head inside.

Neal was sitting at his desk staring at the flat white wall.

"What do you want, Sophie?"

"I'm leaving for the night. Do you need anything?"

Neal shook his head and gave is assistant a wan smile.

"I'm fine. Have a good night."

"Good night," she said sadly, backing out.

"SOPHIE!"

The Assistant popped her had back in quickly.

"Monsieur Ami…did he say where he was staying by chance?"

"He did. He said if you should change your mind, he was staying at the Four Seasons and that…."

Neal smiled. Before she could even finish he was on his feet, grabbing his hat and stepping by Sophie out the door.

"Well," said Sophie, shrugging her shoulders, "I guess you changed your mind. _La Mer," _she sang_, "Qu'on voit danser, Le long des golfes…"_

_Fin_

_**This popped into my head while watching the Super Bowl. **_

_**Big apologies to everyone who speaks French for any mistakes; I did not mean to butcher your beautiful language. I hope you liked this story, and will kindly **_**review**_** if you did! Merci, for your very kind attention.**_


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